


Lex Parsimoniae

by riverstones



Series: Justice in the Machine [3]
Category: Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice, DC Extended Universe, Justice League (2017), Wonder Woman (2017)
Genre: F/M, Oral, Purple Tentacle Monsters, Shameless Smut, Vanilla, crazy-in-love-people, the world needs more wonderbat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-06-13 10:01:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15362037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riverstones/pseuds/riverstones
Summary: Law of Parsimony. Bonus chapter after Occam’s Razor. Directly follows the Justice League movie. Bruce Wayne said, she could dress up as a bat, yadda yadda. Diana Prince takes him up on his offer. And then they get kinky. A “What if of a what if?” scenario.





	Lex Parsimoniae

**Author's Note:**

> I went over-the-top again, I'm sorry, but I'm sorta kinda not sorry too because... uhm, it's just a fanfic, it never happened.
> 
> I dare you to read it in Morgan Freeman's voice.

“I knew you worked at the world's most famous museum. I didn't think you _lived_ here too.” Bruce Wayne followed Diana across the dimly-lit hallways of the Denon wing of the Louvre. It was late, past nine in the evening. The museum had closed hours ago but Diana, as curator, had special access. Despite himself, Bruce was impressed.

“It's only temporary, while my flat is undergoing repairs,” Diana explained as they walked up a flight of stairs. She glanced pointedly at him. “Before you ask, it’s just a regular plumbing problem. Nothing caused by parademons.”

“I see.”

She asked him, politely but curiously, “Do you want to see the Mona Lisa? Without the crowds.”

“Why? When I can be with you,” he actually said it with a straight face. Tempted as she was to roll her eyes, Diana let it slide. Bruce said, “Seriously, I've seen it in daylight. It's a lot smaller than I thought.”

He had been to the Louvre several times, often to socialize with clients or business contacts, and rarely, while investigating a criminal kingpin. Never yet past sundown. The paintings displayed along the hallway seemed to take on a different life in the dimness. But Paris was aptly named the City of Lights—even when it was closed at night, there was enough lighting that the museum was… for lack of a better term, rather enchanting.

Was it the museum, or the woman he was with? He decided he didn’t really care.

Bruce wanted to know, “Tell me again why I'm here instead of at my hotel?”

“Because I asked politely?” They stopped upon an empty cul-de-sac. Diana put her hand on the wall, as if searching. A panel opened soundlessly with a slight push, and she ushered him inside a hidden room.

“You said you wanted an after-dinner coffee,” Bruce reminded her.

“—at my place,” she clarified.

“Right.” He remembered how he found her request oddly specific. An ‘after-dinner coffee’ was a euphemism in select circles, but far be it for him to jump to conclusions.

He looked around, and thought she had led him into some kind of custodian’s quarters. A tall bookcase stood right beside the doorway, with most of the shelves filled with handwritten records. Against one wall was a desk and a lone chair. A spartan twin-sized bed spanned one length of the tiny room. Opposite to the bed was a closed picture window, and he could see the palace courtyard through the slits in the blinds. There was no space for a kitchenette or dining area, and certainly no coffee maker that he could see.

So she had indeed meant the euphemism. Sure, he could oblige. As if to further cement his (quite accurate) conclusion, she simultaneously used one foot to close the door behind him and lithely grabbed his shirt lapels to pull him in for a kiss.

“Making love under the lights of the _Pyramide du Louvre._ You certainly know how to impress whenever you take a girl out.”

“You deserve the best,” the playboy in him automatically replied. Then he blinked. “Wait, did you just say—”

She kissed him harder.

Somehow he found himself backed against the door, helpless against the wiles of an incessant Amazon princess. “I hope you haven't gotten into any tough battles since I left for Paris,” she said as she pulled at the hem of his shirt. “I'm in the mood to get a little rough tonight.”

He jokingly complained, “We just saw each other two days ago.”

“But I wouldn't put it past you.” Shirt off. “Ah, I see you've been good.”

“Heh.”

“Not that good. This bruise is fresh. Last night?”

If he hadn't been so distracted at the moment, he would have frowned. What business was it of hers—? The thought quickly flitted away as she urgently slid her fingers under his belt. His self-preservation instincts kicked in at that instant, and he managed to grab her wrists. He felt more than actually see her smirk, and then she kissed him again.

In such a tiny space, there wasn't much else they could do except tumble onto the bed.

Somehow he landed on top. “God, you're beautiful.” His expression turned awkward. “That has got to be the lamest pick up line I've ever said in my entire life.”

She smiled, a smile that reached her eyes. “You already picked me up. Months ago at Luthor’s party. Haven't I been obvious enough?”

“I never would have pegged you as the type to make love on the first date.”

She haughtily raised one eyebrow. “Do you think I'm easy, Bruce?”

“No,” he answered without hesitation. “No. You are many things, but easy is not one of them.”

“Is that the playboy talking?”

“People give my playboy persona way too much credit. It gets annoying.” He let out a frustrated sigh. Then he admitted, “I haven't used it on you. Not after our first two meetings.”

“I know.” Her sly grin grew a tiny bit wider. “You just admitted that this isn't our first date.”

“Well, I wouldn't call Russia a date—”

She cut him off mid-sentence by hooking one leg about his waist and spinning him onto the bed, flat on his back.

“I just want to play. Don't move,” she whispered huskily, “just let me play with you.”

The room had no ceiling. He could see the stone structure that supported the floor above.

What had he gotten himself into? Wait, why the devil was he complaining? Normally he preferred to make the first move, but… Alfred was right, he never would have made a move on _her_ , and she had just solved his dilemma on how he could broach this particular subject and this wasn't really the kind of thing you thought about when she had just stripped his pants off leaving him completely bare and what in blazes was she…?

Her mouth, tongue and hands were tiny spots of heat dancing on the most sensitive parts of his body. His fists clenched the sheets as he struggled not to move.

“I said ‘don't move,’ not ‘don't look.’”

So he looked. And he could not stop looking.

 _This_ was how she wanted to play? She wanted him? Not just want him, but she actually wanted to go down on him?

God, was she beautiful.

He couldn't help it anymore. Moving on its own, his hips thrust upward so he could push more of himself into her hot little mouth. She didn't seem to mind. In fact, with her eyes still locked onto his, she encouraged him further by cupping his balls in her hot little palm.

 _Fuck-me eyes,_ he remembered the term from some obscure B-movie, and vaguely remembered laughing in contempt at the concept. Now he understood, as he stared down slack-jawed. Because right now those fuck-me eyes were poised right over his penis. He couldn't wrap his head around the contradiction, and it drove him crazy—she had the bright, divine eyes of a holy seraphim, while her flawless mouth sucked him eagerly into oblivion like she was a lewd porn star…

A tortured groan escaped his throat. He wasn't going to last.

She coaxed him, one hand rubbing his balls, the other on his inner thigh, alternating between feather-light caresses and gentle pressure. But it was her mouth that drove him to the edge, as she met his involuntary thrusting, at turns taking in only until his tip, then the next thrust an inch deeper, awkwardly, erratically. _Inexperienced,_  said an inner voice. The louder, sensible part of his mind yelled at him that why would he care.

He jerked when she scraped his glans. “No teeth,” he croaked. He felt her nod of acknowledgement and she angled her head, giving him a better view of her performance.

Hesitantly, he raked his fingers across her scalp.

Here was a living Greek goddess. Sucking him off. While he obscenely pushed her head down onto his crotch.

“I'm close— if you don't stop now—” he sucked in his breath.

She had no intention of stopping. More. Deeper. He couldn't breathe. His face, neck and shoulders were flushed in arousal, yet his knuckles were white as it took all his self-restraint to keep from pressing his hands any more forcefully against his lady's skull. She used her lips. Her hot tongue. Risqueness he had only imagined in his dreams. A goddess serviced him, all his vulgar desires turned into reality.

But despite how the situation may look, despite this being arguably the best head he'd ever had, he knew he wasn't _taking_ his pleasure out of this encounter.

Tonight he was utterly at her mercy.

And then he was cumming. He squeezed his eyes shut, and his fingers involuntarily grabbed into her hair as his entire body spasmed. As he ejaculated, he sensed the pulse of a partial vacuum around his shaft, which could only mean—

Oh God, she was swallowing. It was almost too much.

He pulled her up to face him and sealed their encounter with a kiss. His hands around her waist felt skin and only skin. He had not noticed when, but somehow she had managed to shed her clothes too.

Curious, and on a hunch, he reached between her legs. She was so dripping wet that even her inner thighs were slick. He whispered disbelievingly, “Hell. That turned you on?”

She giggled, embarrassed. “Yeah.” She pulled at his hand, guiding him to use his fingers. “Yeah, I guess it did.”

“I need some time before I can go again.”

“It's alright, you don't have to.” She ground her crotch against his hand. “This is already pretty good.”

He kissed her tenderly on the cheek. “I want to make you feel amazing too.”

 

The City of Lights was aptly named. With wide-open eyes, Diana gazed through the blinds of the picture window of her tiny room towards the illuminated Louvre Pyramid, its lights still turned on despite the time almost close to midnight. Bruce’s arm draped heavy about her waist in slumber. In the dark, she absently traced feather-light spirals upon his forearm.

What had gotten into her? A hundred years celibate and she jumped the first man she felt attracted to… although, it would be a great disservice to refer to Bruce as ‘any man,’ or to call what she felt for him as mere ‘attraction.’

Her companion stirred. She felt his mouth upon her nape, gently nuzzling her. His arm, no longer heavy, lifted slightly so he could press his palm upon her abdomen. His movements were slight, but she could sense his body upon her back. She had not been sated from earlier, and she was hyper-aware of him. She knew he could sense the change in her breathing.

She whispered fiercely, “Don’t you dare stop.”

“Do you still want to…?”

In answer, she put his hand between her legs, so he could feel for himself. He gently stroked her folds, acknowledging her arousal. Wordlessly, he knelt up, then gestured for her to do the same. He guided her so she knelt, and pressed both her arms up against the adjacent wall for support.

He rubbed his hands up and down the length of her back and she shuddered. His callused hands were rough, his skin warm against the room's cool air. He placed his palms underneath her buttocks. Firmly using his thumbs, he spread her open. Her face unexpectedly flushed in embarrassment. The most intimate parts of her body were suddenly laid bare.

Why was she getting embarrassed now? But she was too caught up in what they were doing to puzzle it out. She ground against his touch in urgent need. She was so wet. He thrust two fingers inside and curled them. Soft. Slick. Just right. He added one more, gauging if she could take him.

She sucked in a breath. Three digits were already tight. She had just taken him in her mouth, and she knew when fully erect he was bigger than three fingers.

“Do you want me, Diana?”

“Yes.”

His fingers flexed against her flesh in burning pressure. “Tell me you're mine.” The soft words belied an undeniable forewarning; a sudden possessiveness, and a hint of something so very black. She had a fleeting thought, that perhaps for once she had fallen in way over her head, that in this ordinary man she had just glimpsed a tendril of Hades. It was quickly gone, as the strength of his hand imperiously brought her back to the present.

“I'm yours,” she gasped, her reply mechanical. Earlier she was confused, but now she simply wasn't thinking anymore. The sensations he evoked inside her had pushed all rational thought out of her mind.

He twisted his hand and she couldn't breathe as electricity seemed to course out from him into her center. He insisted, “Again.”

“I'm yours,” she moaned brokenly.

He pulled his fingers out only to thrust himself inside her to the hilt.

She bit down a scream as she grabbed at the wall, her knuckles cracking into the plaster. He filled her, so stretched and full, like nothing she had ever felt before. He firmly grabbed her hips to keep her in place, only barely giving her time to adjust to his girth.

Then he began to move, in that ancient rhythm hard-coded into the instinct of every higher-order living species. Steve had been gentle to her, a hundred years ago. At that moment, Bruce was anything but. His touch was pain, yet it was not. It was raw and untamed, demanding and desperate—so _himself._ She loved it. He snaked one hand to her front, caressing her where they were connected, coaxing her taut body to relax and take all of him inside. With the other hand he palmed her breast and squeezed.

He played with her body as if she was an instrument. _His_ instrument, born on this earth to respond only to his ministrations, with her sounds of gratification as his lofty melody. He angled her hips backward, and she bent her spine in response, so he could reach deeper into her core. He moved, and she met each stroke. Slick, wet, painfully tight but she wanted all of him. The hand on her breast locked her in place, her back against his chest. He softly nuzzled her neck, bemusing her with the contrast of how he could be so hard on her body in certain places yet so tender elsewhere.

He brought her up into a frenzy and she gave a guttural cry.

“You're mine,” he growled. All subtlety was gone, incinerated in hellfire. His breath was hot behind her ear. “Say it.”

She was barely able to answer. “I’m yours!”

“Come for me,” he commanded.

She came. She fell apart in his hands, broken yet simultaneously flaring up, in a pleasure beyond imagining. Time slowed. Her entire body seized in ecstasy, a shockwave that brought her to the edge of delirium. Her inner muscles convulsed around him uncontrollably, and he moaned into her shoulder as he spilled into her womb.

His grip around her slackened. She fell forward, spent and awkward toward the cracked wall, almost hitting her head but she managed to turn at the last moment. She ignominiously lay down, face-up, upon her crumpled sheets.

 

Her eyes were still wild from their lovemaking, and he saw an all too familiar emotion there. Fright.

“Oh god, Diana,” he panicked and quickly reached for her. He had been rough—too rough? But she kept responding— she never stopped him— he hadn’t thought— he didn’t mean— “I'm sorry, I hurt you, I—”

“No! No, you didn't—” she grabbed his hand and pressed it into her cheek. “You didn't hurt me at all. You were right, it was amazing.”

He sat back on his haunches and frowned, not fully believing her. “...then why do you not look amazed?”

Mixed emotions simultaneously passed across her countenance. Then she sat up, pulling away from him, uneasiness plain in her posture. “I— I can't—” She shook her head, then took a breath. “I know it's off-putting to talk about ex-lovers, and I'm so sorry. I've been with a man before, but I don't… I don't think I could have done with Steve what I did with you tonight. They considered it taboo back then, but even when it wasn't taboo anymore, I can't imagine going down on any man.” She bit her lip in uncertainty. “Except with you. With you, it was so easy, so fucking easy— and I wanted it, I wanted you—” She closed her eyes tightly as she recalled what just happened. “Then, when you made love to me, I just— I can't—”

“You can’t…?”

She buried her face in her hands. Softly, she whispered, “It doesn't make sense, but… I was lost.”

Indeed, he didn’t understand, and it vexed him completely. But that other part of his mind yelled at him that she was here, that was what’s important, and at that moment there was no need to understand anything at all. He reached for her, more urgently this time, but again she pulled away. “Diana—”

She stood up and walked towards the window. Her naked silhouette upon the half-open blinds made for a fascinating pattern against the radiant lights of the Louvre Pyramid. With bated breath, he could not help but stare.

After a long moment had passed, the sensible inner voice yelled at him again, that he had just made licentious love to Artemis incarnate so what the hell was he _not_ doing. Soundlessly he moved, with habitual stealth borne of decades spent lurking among shadows, to stand behind her. Carefully, he gripped her elbow. When she did not stir, he dared, and wrapped his arms about her in a protective embrace. This time she did not pull away.

“I thought I already knew. I really thought…” she hung her head. She asked him, without truly expecting an answer, “Is _this_ love?”

In the sky above the Court of Napoleon, the waxing moon shone bright and the night was clear.

“Yes, it is. I'm sure it is.”

Her eyes were delicate beacons in the dark.

“It scares me more than anything.”

**Author's Note:**

> A goddess just fell from her solitary heaven into the waiting arms of the darkest knight. This is the End. There is no continuation of this story line.


End file.
